


The Sporting Life

by strangelysweet



Series: It Happens to the Best of Us [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: 0/10, :/, Akechi Goro and Sakura Futaba Are Half-Siblings, Alternate Universe - American Football, Alternate Universe - American High School, Established Takamaki Ann/ Niijima Makoto, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misogyny, Self-Harm, Shido is a very bad dad, Toxic Masculinity, Underage Drinking, and now with:, both the yoshizawa twins are here bc if i killed one i'd feel bad, high schoolers man, rated for language, rewritten!!, sakura futaba/yoshizawa sumire if you squint, they just can't keep it in their pants, they're just dumbasses, wahooo, would not recommend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24179344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangelysweet/pseuds/strangelysweet
Summary: Goro Akechi is trying his best. He really is. He's got the perfect life: he's on the football team, his (not actually) girlfriend is a cute, rich cheerleader, he's got near-perfect grades. But apparently, his best doesn't quite cut it.When his girlfriend announces she's breaking up with him, Goro's father's plans go right down the drain. The wrench in the works?Akira Kurusu, the quarterback and likable ringmaster of the circus of high school.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Okumura Haru, Akechi Goro & Sakura Futaba, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Niijima Makoto/Takamaki Ann
Series: It Happens to the Best of Us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795603
Comments: 8
Kudos: 184





	1. Everything is Under Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goro has a hard time during practice.  
> Futaba accepts an invitation on his behalf.  
> Akira is a little shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Misogyny, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
> 
> hey! this is the first chapter of the rewrite! it's really fucking long! sorry about that lmao

Goro Akechi had decided that he really disliked the taste of dirt. Coughing out the turf from his mouth and getting to his feet, he did his best to retrieve the air knocked from his lungs. Sweat trickled into Goro's eyes, and his hair was sticking to his face from where his ponytail was coming loose. The jackass who tackled him jogged backward, flashing him a grin and a wink from behind the helmet. Motherfucking quarterback. As he rolled his shoulders from underneath their protective padding, Goro tried to adjust his focus back on the game. This was the second time he faceplanted into the dirt, and he was starting to think that his coach was trying to find ways to murder him and get away with it. He didn't meet Goro's eyes from across the playing field. 

As he cursed, the linebacker shook himself out of whatever stupor he might have been in, cracking his knuckles through the gloves. The offensive team was kicking their asses, and daydreaming wasn't going to get him anywhere. 

A few of the cheerleaders filed out by the field, stretching their arms and legs with surly expressions on their faces. To call them formidable wasn't enough. Ann Takamaki was a beautiful, fierce gorgon with the ability to freeze anyone in their tracks. Her unit followed her like the hunters of Artemis, loyal to the point that Goro was sure she could establish a totalitarian dictatorship with the rest of the team as her secret police. She had a Cult of Personality going for her already. Last year, she was voted the Snowflake Queen.

As he got into place for the upcoming scrimmage, Goro watched Haru Okumura fluff out her hair, stretching her arms high over her head. His eyes drifted to the quarterback, whose eyes bore holes through his helmet. Through the shoulders of the safties in front of him, Goro's eyes trailed over the mud smears and grass stains covering his kit, lingering slightly on the muscles in his arms. 

Stupid, perfect, fucking Akira Kurusu and his goddamn, perfect, fucking smile. He couldn't even begin to imagine what Kurusu did to earn his life, but he sure as hell knows that he's worked harder than some scrawny, messy-haired _twink_ to get where he is today. He wasn't even a big quarterback. Seeing as he wasn't as hulking as some of the others on the teams, Kurusu was always hiding behind worn-out flannels and sweatshirts. Before a wriggling little voice in the back of his head could tell him to stop calling the kettle black, Goro conceded that, yes, although he himself wasn't a big guy either, _he_ wasn't the quarterback. Alas, Kurusu could probably lift him up with one arm, judging from the toned muscles in his arms and the six-pack Goro had seen in the locker room. 

Everyone liked Akira. How _couldn't_ you like Akira? Charming, sweet-natured, funny, attractive, and the _motherfucking_ quarterback of the football team. Surprisingly, the boy didn't have a girlfriend, much to Goro's befuddlement. In theory, Akira could have any girl he wanted, so why he had never dated anyone was beyond Goro's knowledge. Either way, no one disrespected him, because how could they? He's _Akira Kurusu_. Goro spits onto the turf, the mud stuck in his visor dropping into his mouth. 

The whistle blew, and everything crashed together. The cheerleaders pulled off expert tumbling routines and practiced shouts that could strike fear into the hearts of lions, Ann wielding her pompoms like boxing gloves. Mud squeaking against twenty-two pairs of cleats and the grunts of players being pushed to the ground made for a head-splitting cacophony that was just _too_ much, and Goro felt his breath catch in his chest, like a stone trapped in his windpipe. In a moment of distraction, he let himself be kicked hard in the stomach, the wind knocked out of him. He fell forward, digging his fingers into the dirt in an attempt to ground himself. A firm hand on his back brought him out of his headspace, rubbing up and down the length of his spine to try to calm him down. 

"Hey, hey," The voice said, "you good?" 

As he looked up, Goro's eyes met none other than the dark, earnest eyes of Akira himself, who gazed down at him in worry. His breath returning to him, Goro spat out another clump of dirt, getting to his feet.

"Just fine." He seethed, glaring daggers into Kurusu's stupid, perfect face. 

Goro scowled as his coach waved him over, shaking the tangles out of his hair as he removed his helmet. His ponytail moment was short-lived, seeing as it couldn't handle football practice and fell into a messy half-up half-down monstrosity. Coach Shido was a foul-mouthed, ill-tempered man whose frown cut deep. 

"Akechi, what the hell was that?" He hissed, gesticulating wildly to the field. "May I remind you that we've got the Kosei game in a week? If you can't handle a scrimmage, you better kiss that linebacker position goodbye." 

Goro stuffed his gloves inside his helmet, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry, father." 

Grabbing his chin with his hand, Shido dug his fingers into Goro's skin. " _Don't_. I'm your coach here. Leave everything else at home." 

Wrenching his face away, Goro glared hotly at the floor, squaring his jaw. "Yes, coach. I'll do better." 

Fixing him with a hard stare, Shido opened his mouth to scold him further, only to have his gaze captured by something past Goro's shoulder. A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face, and he threw his arms out in excitement.

"There he is! My man of the hour, get over here, champ." He grinned, clapping the dark-haired boy on his shoulder pad, the empty sound echoing through the darkening pitch. 

Looking up to catch a glimpse of the current favorite player, Goro wasn't surprised to see Akira smiling at him cheerfully, helmet tucked under one arm. "Hey, coach." 

"See, Akechi, you would do well to learn some of Akira's tricks. There's a man who knows what he's doing." Shido grinned, his eyes malicious. 

As he bit back a cold reply, Goro scoffs, turning on his heel to set his stuff down on the bleachers. He couldn't help but stare on in envy as Akira traded jokes and beamed up at Goro's father, the dying sunlight starting to fade on the football pitch. Akira's eyes drifted to Goro as he went to retrieve his water bottle, his smile morphing into a look he couldn't decipher for the life of him. It was easy to imagine the dark-haired boy disintegrating into dust underneath Goro's infamous death stare. Akira ran a hand through his hair, the black curls tousling underneath his fingers. Maybe, just _maybe_ , if Goro tried a little harder, he could make his head explode. He squinted a little more, his chin propped up on his hand, picturing the quarterback shattering into a thousand pieces. Water ran down Akira's chin and disappeared down his neck, glinting in the summer sun. The death stare was unsuccessful. 

Averting his eyes and clearing his throat, Goro placed his own water bottle to the back of his neck in an attempt to stave off post-practice heat. His cheeks burned like fire, but as he caught Haru and her friends in the corner of his eye, he slowly removed the bottle. 

Haru Okumura was a curious case for Goro Akechi. She was friendly, kind, and charming, with good grades and an entire company to her name, and a strong contender for the next prettiest girl in school. She was also Goro's fake girlfriend, so extra Brownie points to her for being a good actress. Giving him a little wave, Haru offered him a bright smile. He waved back, giving her a friendly one in return. It was their fathers' ideas. Haru's mother had divorced Kunikazu Okumura after one too many cases of drunken lashing-outs, leaving her only daughter behind. Shido and Okumura were old university friends, and so they brainstormed for a way to make their broken, picket-fence families look whole again. Their solution, at the expense of their children, was to set them up for marriage. 

As feudal as that seemed, they weren't going to go as far as they hoped. Haru agreed to pretend to date him but made her own father promise it wouldn't go further. Goro thought she was lucky her father listened to her at all. It was like a business deal. She would accompany him to parties and fancy dinners hosted by her father, he would walk her to her classes and hold her books, and their parents would continue to be successful in virtually everything.

The buzzing of his phone brought Goro out of his thoughts, and he flashed the screen up to check who was mass spamming him. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he checked. Only one person had the time, effort, and quick typing skills to pull it off. 

> futaba: hey
> 
> futaba: hEY
> 
> futaba: GOROOO
> 
> Goro: I just got out of practice
> 
> futaba: ahh, the joys of being on the football team
> 
> futaba: broken anyone's neck yet??
> 
> Goro: No. As much as I want to...
> 
> futaba: bad goro
> 
> futaba: no murder for you, or you get the spray bottle
> 
> Goro: What did you need?
> 
> futaba: sighhhh
> 
> futaba: can't a girl text her half-brother because she enjoys talking to him???
> 
> Goro: We both know that I’m not enjoyable company, Futaba
> 
> Goro: Did you want me to get you something on the way back? I can stop by the corner store if you want anything.
> 
> futaba: awww how sweet
> 
> futaba: no i just wanted to ask you something
> 
> Goro: Shoot
> 
> futaba: you're playing at my school in a week, right??
> 
> Goro: Yes. Why?
> 
> futaba: just wanted to make sure
> 
> futaba: i miiiisssseddddd youuuuuuuuu
> 
> Goro: We see each other every evening. 
> 
> Goro: I make you dinner literally every day of the week. 
> 
> futaba: but then you leave early in the morning for practiceee
> 
> Goro: I live in the same house as you, Futaba.
> 
> Goro: Is that not enough?
> 
> futaba: you wound me...
> 
> futaba: anyway that's all i wanted 
> 
> futaba: bye loser

Futaba was probably bored out of her mind back at home. The internet had crashed that morning due to her texting a friend, playing Overwatch, streaming Featherman, and letting her Animal Crossing run in the background. It was nice of her to check up on him, though, even if she had the attention span of a hamster on speed. Goro looked up, shrugging his bag onto his shoulder, and made his way over to the group of cheerleaders. Somehow, he had failed to realize that Akira was coming up to the group from the opposite direction, and much to Goro's horror, linking his arm through Haru's. That _motherfucker_. He usually wouldn't care. Haru and Goro were simply friends, but with the guise of high school sweethearts. She didn't really have an obligation to stick around Goro. But with Akira? _Really_? He thought she had better taste. His body moved on autopilot, walking up to the group and smiling pleasantly.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." He announced, running his hand through his hair and eyeing the way Akira's arm intertwined through his fake girlfriend's. 

Her eyes widened, and he saw her hands clench slightly, but he softened his smile to let her know he wasn't there to scold her. Visibly relaxing, Haru removed her arm from Akira's, reaching up on the balls of her feet to press a gentle kiss to Goro's cheek. 

"You're not interrupting." She chimed. "But we do have to do a few extra practice pyramids, so I'll see you for that movie later, right?"

Goro nodded, his hand on her shoulder. "Of course. I'll be on my way, now." 

Much to his surprise, Akira piped up as well. "Are you headed to the locker room? I'll join you."

Goro spluttered, wondering if it was socially acceptable for him to say, "Hell no, go fuck yourself." 

Sadly, it wasn't, so he bit back a scowl and brightened his sour smile. "Sure." 

Akira pulled his towel off of his shoulders, tossing it into his bag as he absentmindedly stared at his phone. He was too engrossed in whatever he was looking at to notice the lasers Goro was trying to shoot with his eyes. The mirrors were all fogged up from the showers, and as Goro toweled off his hair, he couldn't' help but catch a glimpse of Akira's back in a clean portion of the mirror. The bastard had the audacity to act all familiar with him, follow him to the locker room like some lost puppy, and then not talk to him? Clearly, Goro deserved an explanation. Running his fingers through his hair, he let out a sigh. A click sounded from behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see Akira sitting on the bench, his phone turned off and face down on the wooden surface next to him. Drops of condensation hung like gems in his hair, and one slid down the length of his neck, suspended by his collarbones. Realizing his mouth was open slightly, Goro turned back to face the lockers. 

"Can I help you?" He said, dropping the towel into his bag and rummaging around for his jeans. 

Akira leaned forward, his elbows propped on his thighs. "What's your problem with me?" 

"I don't have a problem with you," Goro said plainly, glancing up to meet his eyes in the unclouded part of the mirror. 

Unmoving and strangely intense for someone as gormless as he was, Akira kept his stare leveled to Goro's eyes, even as he pulled his jeans on. 

After a pause, the dark-haired boy finally spoke. "How long have you and Haru been together? She seems a little _unsatisfied_ if you ask me." 

Goro froze, then forcefully yanked his jeans upward, and swiveling to face Akira. "Back off, Kurusu. Haru's too good for you." 

As if the reaction was all he wanted, Akira stood up, hand on his hip, and grinned like a fox. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not interested. She's not my type."

Very briefly, his eyes flicked downward, and Goro felt his heart race in his chest. "Stay away from her." 

"Seems like she's not your type either." Akira mused, looking up at Goro with a gaze that could trick a snake into biting itself. They didn't work on him. 

Turning his back to the dark-haired quarterback, Goro rummaged around his bag for his shirt, giving Akira the opportunity to walk out unscathed. Counting as many curses as he can think of in his head, he shut his eyes, breathing deeply to try and banish the thought of socking Akira right in the nose and bruising that pretty face of his. A sudden warmth radiated from behind him, and a whisper ghosted the shell of his ear. 

"You could do better, Akechi." 

"Would you please _fuck_ _off_?" He hissed, shoving Akira's shoulder roughly.

Raising his hands in surrender, the dark-haired boy walked backward out of the locker room, smiling lopsidedly. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just a dumb football player. What would I know?" 

As soon as he was out of an earshot, Goro slammed his fist into the lockers, the loud noise echoing around the empty room. Running his hand over his face, he let out another growl, a hot wave of discomfort rolling through his body. A part of him, a tiny, weak piece of him, wanted Akira to come back, come closer, and - 

Goro hit the lockers again, feeling pain sting in his knuckles. As he drew his fist back, the skin was raw and red, frayed from hitting the surface too hard. The shock of realizing what he did hit him like a freight train, and he cradled the hand to his chest, watching the blood well on his skin. He knew what he felt wouldn't work. It just wouldn't. Not with his father, not with him, and not with the team. Telling himself it was a harmless part of growing up wasn't working anymore, and he was running out of places to hide. Harsh words from Goro's father didn't help, telling him to cut his hair, to stop cooking for Futaba, and fucking " _man_ _up_ ," all of them should have made sense, but they felt like jamming puzzle pieces into places they didn't fit. 

He slumped down against the lockers, his hand falling to the side, smearing a thin line of red against the pale wooden bench. A short buzz startled him, and then another one, and he went through his bag, looking for his phone. 

> futaba: gorogorogorogorogorogorogoro
> 
> futaba: answer me you wet towel
> 
> futaba: heyyyyyyyy
> 
> futaba: i can see your location you know
> 
> Goro: Not right now, Futaba
> 
> futaba: oh
> 
> futaba: sorry
> 
> Goro: No, no, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.
> 
> futaba: are you ok?
> 
> Goro: Yeah, yeah.
> 
> Goro: I’m fine.
> 
> futaba: ok
> 
> futaba: if you say so
> 
> futaba: come home soon, ok?
> 
> Goro: Okay. Can I pick anything up for you?
> 
> futaba: yeah, your pace
> 
> futaba: i’m lonely
> 
> Goro: You got it.
> 
> futaba: i hungerrrrrr
> 
> Goro: You can hack into a military base, but you can't work the microwave?
> 
> futaba: sorry can't read i'm dying of starvation
> 
> Goro: I'm on my way, brat.

Goro found himself fiddling with his hair, fingers weaving through the long strands of it. His mother had always liked it long. 

"It makes you look so handsome," She had said, stroking his head gently as he read aloud to her. 

Just hearing her voice in his head felt like he was dry-swallowing pills, and he gripped his hair, clenching it tightly in his hands. Not even knowing if the voice he remembers his mother using was the right one, he squeezed his eyes shut, slamming the phone into his bag and yanking his jacket on. As he slung his bag over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Frankly, he looked like shit. Reposing his shoulders and relaxing his jaw to relieve his teeth from straining below his intense resting bitch face, he shook himself out. Glancing at the door, he walked out of the locker room as if he hadn't relived his childhood trauma and gone through an identity crisis. Goro squared his shoulders and sent a cheerful wave to Haru as he left, smiling softly at her. She beamed back at him and proceeded to a back handspring, landing in the arms of Ann Takamaki, who glared coldly at him. 

Keeping his head down as he fiddled with his car keys, Goro caught Akira's blond friend, Ryuji Sakamoto, fiddling with a silver lighter and a cigarette, a thin trail of smoke coming out from underneath the bleachers. He couldn't help but shoot him a cold stare, and Ryuji spared no time in sending him a scowl right back. How Akira had the time to use the power of friendship on practically everybody while juggling his position as the quarterback was beyond Goro's knowledge. Besides that, he didn't have the time to figure it out, judging from the texts Futaba was sending him in record timing. Purely out of spite, Goro coughed as he passed Ryuji, sending him a pointed look of disdain. 

The parking lot was devoid of any life, and Goro half expected a tumbleweed to roll across the tarmac. In the light of the setting sun, his car stared balefully up at him. God, that car was older than he was, but she was his ticket out of there. The only thing stopping Goro and Futaba from going full speed down the highway to the city was the car's faulty engine. Keys dangling from his hand, Goro unlocked his car, slid in the passenger seat, and let out a world-weary sigh. As he leaned forward, his head slipped onto the button that controlled the car horn, and it honked loudly. Startled, Goro jumped, sitting upright and bringing his knees up as a reflex. They hit the underside of the dashboard, and he groaned. Apparently, the peace of having one day where nothing went wrong was too out-of-the-way for the universe to get about doing. Even at this rate, he'd get home before Shido. 

His father rarely showed up for dinner during the week, let alone showed his face at the bland, suburban house he bought when he was still with Goro's mother. Futaba had a theory that he owned a second home, stocked with champagne flutes and blonde, busty women dressed exclusively in black lace slips. Although Shido was the coach at the local high school, he had a foot on the political ladder. He had big plans to be elected as a state senator, and if that included working from the bottom up, then so be it. He was rolling in money from a past trust fund and a well-paid position at Shujiin. 

The lights flickered on in their small town, the stars just beginning to show their faces in the darkening sky. Goro switched the radio on, tapping his finger on the steering wheel. He passed a pickup truck with several familiar teenagers hanging out of the windows and the back, blasting music and swinging beer bottles around like flashlights at a concert. Rolling his eyes, Goro turned the corner, narrowly avoiding scraping the paint off of his car on another car, attempting to avoid the pickup truck of doom. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, he turned onto his road, pulling into his driveway. The lights in Futaba's room were on, and something was flashing on her computer, so she hadn't set anything on fire in his absence. 

His phone buzzed for the umpteenth time that day, and Goro was fully prepared to tell Futaba to fuck off, but instead of finding his sister's fluid internet slang, he was greeted by grammatically correct English. Thank God. 

> Makoto Niijima: Hey, Goro.
> 
> Makoto: Just wondering if you were still on for that run tomorrow morning?

Makoto Niijima was quite possibly Goro's only friend. Like her sister, who Goro interned for when he started high school, Makoto was practical and logical. With her grades at the top of the class, she was what Futaba would call a "Nerdjock Combo." Makoto was the school's lightweight boxing champion, and by God, did she have the muscles to prove it. Although standing at a meager five feet, two inches, the girl could headbutt an ox so hard, her forehead would indent its face. To say that Goro was scared of her would be correct, but it was mostly out of respect. 

Opening the front door and sliding his shoes off, Goro flipped on the light switch, calling out into the darkness. "Futaba? I'm home." 

There wasn't a reply. Goro assumed she was probably plugged into some online game and started up the stairs when his phone started ringing. What was it today? Why was it that only _now_ he was popular enough to receive multiple text messages and a phone call? He glanced down, checking the caller ID, and promptly let out a very loud, "Oh, fuck." 

Haru's name and photo beamed up at him from his screen, and he immediately answered. She never called unless it was a big deal. 

"Hey, Goro, thanks for picking up." Her voice chimed through the receiver, echoing around the hall. 

He ascended the stairs as quickly as possible, trying to lower the chances of Futaba tapping into the call with her weird internet magic. Closing his bedroom door behind him, Goro sighed heavily, then sat down on the end of his bed. 

"Yeah, no problem. What's wrong? You only call when something's wrong." He answered, absentmindedly fiddling with a strand of his hair. 

Haru made a noise of hesitation, and Goro braced himself for the worst possible outcome. "Well, I've been thinking, mostly about our arrangement, and I've come to the conclusion that we should break up." 

Goro would never have been able to prepare himself for that. He choked on his saliva, coughing wildly, as Haru asked him if he was alright. Forgetting they weren't talking face to face, Goro nodded like an idiot. 

"No, no, I'm fine. Just," Goro sighed yet again, wondering if he should start to keep a list. "Why?"

Haru shifted on the other end of the line, her voice fuzzy through the receiver. "I don't want to be some... Subservient puppet in my father's plans. I want to live life on my own terms."

As touching as her inspirational speech was, Goro couldn't help but feel a sense of dread wriggling in the back of his mind. "But -"

Harnessing the fountain of inspiration, Haru continued her passioned cries. "If they want our families to be together, then _they_ can get married!" 

A brief vision of his father walking down the aisle in a white dress and veil, straight into the waiting arms of Kunikazu Okumura sent a laugh rippling through the silence of his room. As much as he hated to think it, there was no way they would get out of this so quickly. 

"That's a fair point." He said. "Are there any other factors in this decision, or is it purely to have the furthermost seats from the front when they find the garter?" 

"I can think for myself, Goro." Haru insisted, also giggling at the thought of Shido in a wedding dress. "But Akira -"

As his blood froze in his veins, Goro gripped the bedsheets with such force, he was briefly worried he had torn them. "Akira? Akira Kurusu? The quarterback?" 

He was going to rip him limb from limb. Apparently not sensing the anger rolling off of Goro's voice in waves, Haru laughed. "There's only one Akira in the school, Goro." 

Choking on air once more, Goro muttered something about calling her back later and dropped his phone onto the bed. Just thinking about him made Goro's blood boil in his veins, and the only outlet he could think of was screaming as loudly as his body permitted.

He did just so, screaming into the abyss of petty grudges and teenage qualms. How fucking _dare_ he? Who on Earth gave Akira the right to mess with his father's plans when his own son didn't even have the power to? Why were the scales tipped in such an unfair balance? Of course, he wanted to see Haru happy, but he wanted to see his sister safe, knowing she'll be able to sleep without fearing her sorry excuse of a father. Holding his head in his hands, he gripped his hair, staring at the fabric of his jeans. A small, frightened noise came from outside his door, and Goro immediately froze. The last thing he wanted was Futaba being scared of him. Not only would it tear him apart, but it would be an inescapable omen that no matter what he did, he was going to be just like his father. 

Slowly, he got up, closing his hand around the door handle and swinging the door open. There, sitting with legs crossed, Futaba peered up at him, her hands gripping her Nintendo Switch tightly. 

"Are you done screaming into the void yet?" She asked, expertly hiding the shakiness of her voice. "The microwave popcorn won't nuke itself, so you better get cracking if we want to watch the latest Featherman movie." 

Goro sighed, tousling her hair. "If you're pirating unreleased media, at least use an incognito tab." 

"You scoundrel! How dare you assume I would make a noob mistake like that? What do you take me for, an _amateur_?" She said, inconspicuously changing the tab to private mode.

Huffing out a tired laugh, Goro made his way down to the kitchen, flipping the lights on. He stuck his hand inside one of the cupboards, rummaging around for the box of microwave popcorn they kept behind the peanut butter. As he rooted through the cabinets, Goro's mind drifted elsewhere. God, he just wanted to punch Akira square in the nose. He wanted to feel his fist collide with his sharp cheekbone, to whack him right upside his defined jawline, to smack him right in the middle of his stupid, pretty face.

 _Fine_ , so maybe Goro had a weird, little fixation on Akira Kurusu. It was intense, to say the least, and absolutely something his mind drifted off to. One minute he was staring at his ass in Gym, and the next, he wanted to throttle him. No, not in a sexy way. Like, actually strangle him. He was infuriating. It made boiling waves of self-contempt rush over his body like oil, slippery and hard to get off. After having the fact he was wrong drilled into him like a military exercise, Goro couldn't afford to slip up. His little obsession with that god-awful twink would follow him to the grave. 

Grumbling curses, Goro shoved the box in the microwave, swearing he'd kill Akira Kurusu one day. No one should have to look at his stupid smirk or his dark eyes that could swallow light, or that face he made when he was concentrating, his hand underneath his chin. Or, although based purely on speculation, what he looked like from below. Imagine, his face flushed and red, lips inches apart from - 

"Fuck! Shut _up_!" He hissed aloud, slamming the cupboard door closed. 

The smell of smoke hung thick in the air, and Goro remembered that he never actually took the bag of popcorn out of the box. Cursing loudly, he opened the microwave to a tiny armageddon, flames licking up the side of the cardboard box. 

"Shit," He yelled, grabbing it with oven mitts and dropping it in the sink. "Fucking hell!" 

The sound of pattering footsteps on the stairs alerted him of Futaba's presence as she called from the stairwell. "What's happening?" 

"We're out of popcorn." He replied, watching the fire fizzle out in the sink. "And I just dealt with a small fire." 

Futaba popped her head around the corner. "Well, then you better go get some more. I'll deal with this clean-up." 

Sighing, Goro nodded, pulling out his phone. "Alright. Anything else we need?" 

As she mopped up some ash from the floor with a damp paper towel, Futaba looked up, her hand propped underneath her chin. "Cherry soda. Doritos, maybe, but definitely the soda."

Fetching a jacket and his wallet, Goro tied his hair back as he rushed to get his shoes on. As she cleaned out the smoke stains in the microwave, Futaba called out into the hall, her smile evident in her voice. 

"Go out into the world and wreak havoc, brother of mine." 

"Yeah, yeah, you got it." He smiled too, fetching his keys from the table by the door. 

Somehow, the pickup truck of doom hadn't found its destination yet and was drifting from lane to lane by the convenience store, music blasting from its speakers. Groaning in aggravation, he hit the horn on the car, praying they weren't stupid enough to total into the convenience store. Thank whatever God seemed to be testing him, they screeched to a stop, filing out in a drunk conga line of stupidity into the gas station. Driving into the parking lot and retrieving his keys from the car, Goro got out. Stepping out into the warm summer evening, Goro let his hair down, fiddling with the tie as it circled his wrist loosely. The air conditioning was cold, blasting him in the face like a sucker punch. He shivered, going to begin the hunt for the cherry soda and heading straight to the aisle where the junk food and candy were. He grabbed the cherry soda and the box of instant popcorn, scanning the shelves for any other necessities. His face brightened when he saw the tray of three donuts, knowing Futaba would want at least two. With another whoosh of warm air, the doors opened again for more screeching, drunk teenagers, this time led by a familiar face. Hiding behind his hair, Goro booked it straight to the self-checkout as Ann Takamaki tossed her hair over her shoulders, somehow as stern as she was when she was sober. 

Sneaking behind them to scan his items, he clocked that they were waving to someone outside the store. If he was quick enough, he would be in and out of there before they could see him and do... Whatever they were going to do when they talked to him. Ripping the voucher from the till, Goro made a quick dash to the back exit, or at least he would have, seeing as the receipt was stuck in the cash register. 

"Fuck." He muttered, tugging at it with his hand. 

The doors opened once more, and Goro shrank even further behind the shelf, desperately trying to get the attention of a store clerk with their headphones in. Looking up, they rolled their eyes, getting up in absolutely no hurry, much to the bane of Goro's existence. As they gave him a dull, bored stare, they ripped the receipt in half, then nodded to the back exit. 

"S'off limits." They mumbled, the smell of weed and Takis hanging around them like the incense of teenage rebellion. 

Squaring his jaw, Goro fixed them with a hard stare. "Fine. Thanks for your help." 

The clerk gave him a weak, two-fingered salute, then went back to their headphones, popping a piece of chewing gum from a battered packet. Turning on his heel, Goro huffed shortly, shaking his head in exasperation. Honestly, the _nerve_ of some people. Futaba would owe him when he got back - 

And, all of a sudden, he knocked someone to the floor. Sucking in a sharp inhale through his teeth, Goro immediately offered them a hand up. 

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention, can I -" 

He stopped short, watching as the grand meddler extraordinaire, the lankiest quarterback in the history of football, the sly fucker himself, Akira Kurusu, took his hand. Dusting himself off, he glanced upward, smiling in a self-deprecating manner as he started his own apology, then did a double-take, his grin widening. 

"Oh, hey, Goro." He beamed, his tone saccharine and patronizing. "Didn't expect to see you here." 

Dropping Akira's hand like a hot stone, Goro gave him a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Well, Kurusu, we live in the same small town with only one convenience store. I could work out the probability in my head."

Leaning precariously on one of the shelves, Akira crossed one ankle over the other, resting his head on his hand. "It's nice to see you." 

That _motherfucker_. Goro's knuckles cracked as he tightened his grip on the plastic bag. "Can't say the same, I'm afraid." 

"Sorry to disappoint. Were you expecting someone else?" The dark-haired boy scanned his eyes up and down, and as he did so, Goro couldn't help but feel like he was being surveyed, like a wolf looked at a lamb. 

The feeling sent a shiver down his spine, and he wondered if he slid a hand through Akira's mane of dark, fluffy hair and tilted his head backward, he'd look up at him with those dark, sharp eyes -

Fuck! No, no, he did _not_. Absolutely not, big bag of nope. Narrowing his eyes, Goro tilted his head to the side, feigning innocence, and brought a hand underneath his chin. 

"I can say that I didn't expect to see you," He mused, "much less that I'd knock you to the floor. You took quite the fall there, are you alright? Perhaps your ego has been dislodged." 

Akira let out a short huff of laughter, raising an eyebrow. Letting his smile turn acidic, Goro laughs as well, narrowing his eyes even more. 

"No, I don't think so. It was rather sturdy, to begin with." 

Running a hand through his hair, Akira shook his head, laughing softly. He was a complex creature of curves and edges, with eyes that could slice a rock in half and hair that seemed so soft, Goro wanted to twist it between his fingers. 

"You know, I like the way you talk to me." He admits, cracking a snarky grin. "It's feisty."

Anger twitched through his bones, and Goro suppressed the urge to punch Akira in the face for the umpteenth time that day. "Quite the masochist, aren't you? I promise you I can get worse, but I don't have all night, so if you would kindly move -" 

Akira interrupted him because apparently, he was raised by wolves. "You heard about the party down at Ann's? Her parents are in Finland for the week, so she's throwing a party. Everyone else can get boring."

Ann called his name from across the cereal aisle, yelling at him to hurry up. Akira waved her away, and she rolled her eyes, motioning for her squad to follow her out. Watching them troop out, Goro nodded towards them. 

"Your friends are waiting. Goodnight." He said, trying to duck around the shelf. 

Before he could escape, a hand shot out and took his wrist. Goro's eyes shot open, and he instantly staggered backward, glaring at Akira incredulously. Akira let go, raising his hands with his palms facing Goro, like how one would calm an agitated animal. Fishing around his back pocket, he pulled out a slip of paper, then pressed it lightly to Goro's chest. 

"Look, just give me a call if you want to come, okay? My passenger seat's empty." He smiled earnestly, and a shudder of butterflies erupted in the brown-haired boy's stomach. 

Clearing his throat in an attempt to regain his composure, Goro rolled his eyes. "If I say yes, will you _please_ let me leave?" 

That shit-eating grin came back. "I was gonna let you leave now, but you've given me an idea. Text me when you're ready for me to come and get you." 

And with that, Akira turned around, sending him a daring wink, and tossing his car keys up in the air. Goro followed him out after he saw him leave, his phone blowing up in his pocket. He really had to tell Futaba that she had to remove the bugs on his phone. She said it was for safety purposes, but he deduced she was just nosey. 

> futaba: OH MY GOD
> 
> futaba: I HEARD EVERYTHING YOU HAVE TO GO
> 
> Goro: What? No, are you out of your mind?  
> Goro: What about our movie night?
> 
> futaba: FORGET FEATHERMAN YOU’RE GOING TO A HOT CHICK’S PARTY
> 
> Goro: Please, never say that again.
> 
> Goro: And I’mm not going.
> 
> futaba: coward.
> 
> Goro: No! I just hate him. Like, really, really hate him.
> 
> futaba: METHINKS THE LADY DOTH PROTEST TOO MUCH
> 
> Goro: You don’t even read Shakespeare! 
> 
> futaba: lmao i can’t read full stop
> 
> futaba: but seriously!!
> 
> futaba: go have some fun
> 
> futaba: it doesn’t have to be with that boy but you should unwind or smth 
> 
> futaba: you’ve been mega stressed since you got home :((
> 
> Goro: I’m headed on my way home. I have your donuts. 
> 
> futaba: i won’t force you to go Futaba: but you should go have fun
> 
> futaba: get shitfaced
> 
> futaba: smash a cutie
> 
> Goro: I am reversing over your donuts as we type. 
> 
> futaba: don’t text and drive!!!!

"Futaba, please, I got you _donuts_!" He begged as he opened the door, "just this once! I'm begging you, tell him I can't go." 

Futaba ignored him, shoving a portable charger into his hands. "If you don't come home before four, I'm calling Makoto." 

Spluttering, Goro shook his head, watching as his items for bartering were ripped from his hands. "No, you won't! I'm not going anywhere." 

She raised her eyebrow, taking a large bite of her glazed donut. "You're acting like a big baby, Goro. _Go_. You need to live." 

"I do!" He protested. 

Futaba glanced at him with a perfect death stare. Withering underneath her gaze, he couldn't help but feel proud that he taught her well. He conceded, grabbing a plaid shirt from the coat rack and tying his hair back once more. 

"Okaybebackbyfouriloveyoubye!" She yelled, pushing him out onto the front porch. 

Goro turned to look at his sister over his shoulder. "Wait, how does he know -"

"I texted him for you." She puffed her chest out like a proud little budgie. 

And, sure enough, Akira's car pulled into the driveway, sleek and black. Glaring daggers at his sister, Goro descended the steps, then turned to look at Akira with eyes that could freeze a volcano. Akira grinned like a Cheshire cat, leaning on the open door of his car. 

"You clean up nice." He offered. 

Goro rolled his eyes in agitation. "I only tied my hair up." 

Shrugging off the venom in his voice like water on a duck's back, Akira huffed out a laugh. "Then you just look nice." 

For the first time in his life, Goro was unable to come up with a snarky comeback. Blinking, he simply opened up the car door and slid into the passenger seat, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. 

"Thanks, I guess."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyy greetings to old readers and new readers.  
> i was incredibly dissatisfied with my old writing, so voila! i've rewritten an popular one from about half a year ago!  
> bear with me, the updates may be pushed back between other chapters of other fics, but it should be generally quick!  
> happy reading!!


	2. Nothing Can Possibly Go Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goro attends a party.  
> Futaba regrets her phone bugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Underage Drinking, Alcohol, References to Child Abuse, References to Injury, Internalized Homophobia
> 
> This chapter has a few parts that may be difficult to read! Please continue with caution!!

Akira's car smelled like coffee and leather. It was a relatively nice car, and that alone made Goro want to scream. Humming as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, Akira drove past the school, glancing quickly at the football pitch. 

"So, I heard you're breaking up with Haru. Did you take my advice?" He said, smirking like the cat who got the cream. 

Anger flared up the back of Goro's neck, hot and vicious. Akira kept his eyes on the road, ignoring the sharp inhale from the passenger seat. 

"Who told you?" Goro asked, keeping his voice level. 

The quarterback turned onto a street Goro hadn't been down before, glancing up at his rearview mirror. "Things get passed around. But don't worry. Only Haru's closest friends know." 

The smug look on his face made Goro's knees weak, and he was glad to be sitting down. If otherwise, he would have fallen to the floor. The car came to a stop, and Akira ran a hand through his hair, patting the pockets of his jeans in search of something. Ann's house was lit up like a Christmas tree. There were people inside the house, silhouetted behind the large windows. Goro had to hand it to her; the place was _gorgeous_. Their gentle mid-century style residence was huge, geometric, and beautiful. It had huge windows, a pool, a large garden, and a quiet part of the neighborhood. The only issue, it seemed, was the fact their daughter was throwing the party of the century. 

Akira made a small noise of triumph as he brought out a flask, unscrewing the lid and taking a sip. Goro eyed the way he offered it to him, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. 

"What's in it?" 

Akira laughed. "I'm not going to _poison_ you, Goro. It's just whiskey." 

Goro softened. "Sorry."

What? Why did he apologize? This jackass was influencing Haru to mess up his life even more than the trainwreck it already was. But when he looked back to Akira, expecting the hard, cold stare of someone who believed they deserve more than a meager "sorry," Goro was surprised. 

Instead of frowning, Akira was smiling, his brows knitted in worry. "Hey, man, you don't have to apologize. I understand I've been... An obstacle, recently."

"You have," Goro nodded, his tone biting. "And forget I said anything. It was a slip of the tongue. 

Laughing softly, Akira puffed a bit of hair out of his face. "There's the rude, sarcastic person I know."

"Dick." 

"Do you want a drink or not?" He quipped, 

Glaring sharply at him, Goro promptly got out of the car. Straightening out his jacket, he tapped his foot in impatience as Akira took his sweet time getting out. In silence, they walked down the block, the faint sounds of party music and cheers hummed in the air, lingering like an aftertaste. Goro cleared his throat. 

"Thank you," He forced out, "for that moment of... Vulnerability." 

Perking up, Akira hummed in affirmation. "Oh, yeah. That. Well, it's no problem. You're not actually a bad guy, you know, even if you make yourself out to be bitchy." 

Wrinkling his nose, Goro stopped walking. "I'm not _bitchy_ -"

"Would you prefer I lied to you and called you a ray of sunshine?" Akira retorted, but there wasn't any malice in his voice. Thinking back on it, Goro had never heard a tone of bitterness even come out of Akira's mouth. 

It troubled him, to say the least, and his continued train of thought just kept spiraling down the hellish train tracks of guilt. No, he'd never really talked to Akira that much, and no, he'd never _actually_ insulted him to his face with the intent to hurt. But Goro had brushed him off, blamed him for his own imperfections and flaws. Why had he been blaming Akira for feelings he himself had felt. Akira Kurusu was no saint, but Goro Akechi was treading closer to the line of a sinner. 

"No, I don't think I would." He mused. 

Akira sighed. "You're not as much of a jerk as you wish you were. Your sister? My friend Ann's girlfriend, Makoto, knows both of you pretty well. She's always going on and on about how much you care about her and how insightful you are."

Makoto was going to regret asking him for that run. Shaking himself out of his irritation, Goro frowned. "I never said I wished I was a jerk. I don't even believe I _am_ a jerk." 

Wagging a finger at him with triumph, Akira took a step closer, grinning like a cat. "You do! You beat yourself up about it all the time." 

"No, I -" He paused. "How do you know? We don't talk often, and when we do, it's about football."

Akira paled. "Uh, Makoto said -"

"Have you been eavesdropping on me?" He asked, a feeling of excitement creeping up his spine as he watched the dark-haired boy squirm, like the buzz of knowing you're doing something you shouldn't. "Paying _close_ attention to me, one might say?" 

Something in Akira's eyes changed, and ignoring the creeping feeling of dread, Goro squared his shoulders, narrowing his eyes as an act of provocation. 

"Closer than you think." He said, voice low and heavy. 

Swallowing, Goro conceded, looking past Akira's shoulder and at Ann's chaos-strewn party. "Perhaps Makoto's here, too. We should get going." 

Almost like a fire cruelly put out by a bucket of cold water, Akira blinked, adjusting himself once again to fit the conversation's tone. 

Dodging a splash from an iconic red solo cup, Goro followed Akira inside, regretting his decision immediately. Scanning the foyer, he tried to find a familiar face. Not even past the door, Akira was trading banter with someone Goro hadn't even seen before, and then another person. The action itself made Goro's stomach weak. It was terribly hard not to dislike him at least a little bit, even if it was just for the sake of it. Rolling his eyes, Gorp ducked into the front room, narrowly avoiding a drunk girl come cannonballing into Akira's arms. He did a double-take. The squealing, affectionate girl currently being spun around in circles by the quarterback was _Ann Takamaki_. A hand placed itself on his shoulder, and Makoto sighed beside him. 

"Glad you showed up." She muttered, taking a long sip of her drink. "Ann's fucking hammered." 

Goro hummed in disdain as she peppered kisses onto Akira's face. "And you seem to be as well. Usually, your language is more, how do I put it, uptight?" 

Affectionately punching him on the shoulder, Makoto crushed her can of beer and tosses it at him. "Hold this." 

Watching with glee, Goro caught the can and leaned against the wall as Makoto marched over to Akira, an indifferent look on her face. Ann swung her legs back and forth in the dark-haired boy's arms, giggling like a child, but the second Makoto came into her sight, she was catapulting into her girlfriend's arms. Hoisting her up bridal style, Makoto eyed Akira up and down, then gave him a hard stare. Much to Goro's disappointment, she turned on her heel and marched back to where Goro's standing. 

"Should've punched him." He chimed, tossing the crumpled metal into a nearby trash bag. 

Ann clocked him standing next to Makoto, and with the speed and agility only a cheerleader could pull off while drunk, she was immediately standing in front of him, holding his hands and swinging their arms. 

"Goro! I'm _so_ glad you made it! I saw you and 'Kira talking in the gas station, and I wondered if he finally got the balls to -"

"And that's where we'll stop," Makoto interjected, taking Ann by the shoulders and leading her upstairs. "You need to lie down." 

As she was led away like a sugar-high child at their parent's dinner, Ann peered over her shoulder and pointed in the vague direction of a room that could only be described as loud. "Drinks are in there! All of it's gotta go, or I'm grounded, and I don't get to drive the Porsche until I'm thirty!"

Watching them ascend the stairway, Goro sighed. He wasn't even sure Ann knew his first name, let alone would be glad he came to her party. The entire experience was rather bizarre, and he couldn't help but wonder if this whole thing was a bad idea. 

Weaving through the crowd to get to the table of drinks, Goro picked up a plastic cup, eyeing the clear liquid inside, and tried to find a quiet corner of the room. He took a tentative sip, feeling the music thump in his chest like a second, unwelcome heartbeat. Immediately, he coughed and placed a hand to his chest, staring at the cup incredulously. It _burned_. The question of how Ann was able to get her hands on shitty, strawberry-flavored vodka was promptly answered after a few seconds. No matter how inferior your fake IDs were, if the cashier was blazed, you'd be walking out of the store with several crates of alcohol. 

It was when he finished his cup that it happened. Leaning against a wall, Goro watched as people tripped over themselves in drunken fits of laughter, limbs draped over shoulders and hips like how one would wear clothing. Amid all this chaos, small and delicate, stood Haru, her hands wrapped around a small cup that looked untouched. Goro looked on in trepidation as Haru walked towards him, smiling in recognition as she picked her way through the crowd. Standing in front of him, she gently sighed. 

"Hey." 

Goro swallowed. "Hey, yourself. Are you - Is your father -"

As she shook her head, Haru's smile grew bittersweet. "We don't have to talk about him. Goro, have you told -" 

"No." He said shortly. "Sorry. I don't mean to be curt. Well, what a pair we are. Can't even fit one sentence between us." 

She let out a weak laugh, fidgeting with her cup. A long pause stretched out between them, promptly filled with shouts, music, and cheering. As Goro ran a hand through his hair, he opened his mouth to speak but closed it as Haru did the same. 

"Sorry. You go first." She offered, tucking a strand of curly hair behind her ear.

Just thinking about the earful she'd get from her father made Goro's own head hurt, and an awful pang of guilt stabbed at his chest at how selfish he must be, to blame Haru's suffering on the choices her own father made. It was never Haru's fault. It was never Akira's fault. All of that time, instead of reflecting the hate that struck down from his own father's words, he redirected it, like a conduit of lightning. Instead of hitting back at Shido and Okumura, he hurt others who didn't deserve it. 

All of this knowledge that unearthed itself upon him at a teenager's party hit him like a truck. _No_ , he wasn't mentally prepared for all of these identity crises or discovering that deep down, underneath all of his shitty morals, there were even more twisted ethical mistakes. Instead of apologizing to Haru or finding it in himself to ask her for help, Goro coughed.

"I have to go."

If one had to spare the details, Goro spent the next hour getting hammered on shitty vodka that tasted like candy. However, if one had a wealth of time on their hands, then the full story would reveal how he got drunk and a few more catalysts that would eventually add up to make the Worst Hangover Goro Akechi Would Get, Ever. 

It really started as he pushed off the wall, leaving Haru behind in a sea of people that he didn't really like, marching into any other room he could find. Somehow, Makoto's restraining wasn't enough to keep Ann from the party, and she waved at him as she expertly carried out the maneuver for a physically perfect kegstand. Her girlfriend watched on in disgust, admiration, and quite possibly (but inexplicably) attraction. 

"I'm very impressed. Mildly scared, but impressed." He said, watching Ann remove an arm and wave to someone in her gathering audience. 

Makoto took a long gulp of her beer and nodded dismally. "Tell me about it. I have to deal with this when the party's over." 

The cheers reach a crescendo, and Ann, somehow coherent, did a little cartwheel onto her feet. "Yeah! Beat _that_ , Iida-from-AP-chemistry!" 

Iida-from-AP-chemistry did not, in fact, beat that. 

Traipsing over to Makoto and Goro, Ann flicked her pigtails over her shoulder and scanned the linebacker's face with an eerie stare. "What's eating you?"

"Nothing is," He cleared his throat, encapsulating his next words with air quotes, "'eating me.'" 

Shrugging, Ann made a noise of half-hearted agreement. "Fair enough, keep your cards close to your chest. Though some card games are played better with two, am I right?" 

Makoto rolled her eyes as Ann's face shifted into a mischievous smirk. "Ann..."

"What, babe? I'm just trying to help things along for our dear Joker." She said, nuzzling her face into the crook of Makoto's neck like a tired cat. 

Tired of her antics, Goro stormed through to the next room, the lights a different color than the others. It felt a little like walking through the layers of Hell. Still, he proceeded through all of them, looking for an empty one, taking a small bottle of alcohol as he went. 

Finding another wall to slump against and brood, Goro watched the glistening pool in the Takamaki's back yard, taking off the bottle cap with his teeth. The look on Haru's face as he left, the sound of the quiet whimper of fear from Futaba as she sat outside his door, the way he felt when Akira _fucking_ Kurusu looked at him through his eyelashes, all of them felt like consecutive punches to the gut. Goro's head hit the back of the wall with a dull thud, and through the darkness of the room, he could see the reflection of the water on the ceiling. 

After finishing off the bottle, Goro knew he should probably have given Futaba a message about how much fun he was not having. Futaba's chat icon stared up at him, a tiny cat in a frog hat, and the worst thing he could possibly think of doing was letting her hear his voice. He knew Shido didn't have an issue with alcohol, and he was more or less still coherent enough to pass as slightly tipsy. It didn't help that on the night of his anniversaries with Wakaba and Goro's mother, Shido broke out the heavy bottles, and they chimed like jewels behind the glass cabinet he kept locked. Slurring words and biting tones were all Futaba needed to hear to start shaking, twisting her shirt in her hands, and cowering away from any sharp movements. Goro had too many memories of applying bruise salve to her face, and on quite possibly the worst night of their lives, the dark, hand-shaped bruise that clasped around her neck. 

So instead of calling his sister, Goro spared the pain and texted her. 

> Goro: Really drunk
> 
> Goro: This was a bbad idea
> 
> futaba: holy shit
> 
> futaba: you’ve finally done it
> 
> futaba: you’re a proper high schooler now, bud
> 
> futaba: text me if you get into trouble, k?
> 
> Goro: Okkkay 

"There you are." A voice called out, a tall silhouette standing in the doorway. "Was wondering where the introverts' room was." 

Goro snorted, knocking back another bottle and leaving it by the other one. Checking again, he found that yes, there were two bottles there. How he got his hands on that other one was beyond him, but the fact he was _actually_ inebriated really sunk in then.

Walking into the cold light reflected from the pool, Akira walked over to him, a can of beer in one hand and the other tucked into his pocket. "Can I join you?" 

Waving his hand in indifference, Goro made a noncommittal noise. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Akira crouched down next to him, poking his cheek.

"Yikes, you look like you could use some fresh air." He slid his shoulder underneath Goro's arm, pulling him to his feet. "There we go, up and at 'em, champ."

"Don't call me champ. It makes you sound _old_." Goro frowned, believing he could walk just fine without Akira's assistance, leaning away from him and opening the door to Ann's balcony. Placing a hand between his shoulder blades, Akira hissed sharply.

"Shit, be _careful_. We don't need any casualties at a Takamaki party."

Rolling Akira's hand off his back, the linebacker gave him a sour look. "I'm perfectly capable of moving without your assistance."

"Looks like you sobered up enough to be smart-mouthed." The dark-haired boy snorted. 

Goro sighed, watching the rippling lines trace the underside of Akira's face, playing across his skin like liquid moonlight. His chest tightened painfully, and he looked away, instead choosing to run a hand through his hair. At one point, he was sure it was tied back, pulled out of his face, but it hung loose, just brushing his shoulders. Akira hummed a noise that Goro couldn't decipher the tone of. 

"Your hair," He stated, "it's long." 

Giving him a slow clap, Goro nodded. "Ever considered a job in, say, the detective business? They could use a _sharp_ brain like yours." 

Akira laughed, somehow taking Goro's scathing insults like water to a duck's plumage. "I meant it in, like, a nice way. Long hair suits you. Makes you look pretty." 

The wry smile immediately fell from Goro's face, and he dug his nails into the palms of his hands. The way his chest was fluttering was simply, irrevocably _wrong_. There were rules he had to play by, and letting himself get swept up into Akira's charming whirlpool of "nice" was breaking every single one of them. 

"I probably need to cut it, then. Gets in the way, you know." He mused, ruffling the back of his head.

Suddenly realizing that Akira was close enough for Goro to smell the scent of his fruit-flavored beer, his fingers twisting through the longer strands of his hair, a hot flush crept up the back of his neck. Almost as if he was transfixed, Akira's hand stayed at the base of Goro's neck, the heel of his palm barely touching his jaw. Distractedly, Akira's grip tightened, and Goro sucked in a breath, leaning into the touch. 

As if struck by lightning, they sprung away from each other, attempting to regain their composure by leaning against the balcony railing. 

"Sorry," Akira muttered, taking a sip of his beer. 

Goro made a face. "What even is that? Smells like melted candy." 

A short laugh left Akira's lips. "Says the guy who inhaled two bottles of Ann's disgusting lime vodka." 

"Well, that's entirely the point," Goro explained, "it's tooth-rottingly sweet, so obviously, I want more." 

Throwing his head back with laughter, the quarterback leaned his head on his hand. "That makes no sense whatsoever."

A beat of silence fell between them, the summer night's breeze running across Goro's skin like water. Guiltily, Akira turned around, leaning his elbows on the railing, and giving Goro a look that read "sad puppy." 

"So, hate to bring this up again, but you and Haru, huh? You're really broken up?" He asked, training his eyes on the doors. 

Scowling, Goro gave him the iciest look he could muster. "Oh, of course. That's why you're here. Trying to make a good impression on your new conquest's ex? She's not a fucking _vase_ , Kurusu. She doesn't need my permission to do anything, much less my approval." 

Sighing, Akira ran a hand through his hair, a pained expression on his face. "No, that's not why I'm here. It's not even why I brought _you_ here. I wanted -" 

Anger flared like a snare drum in Goro's bones, and he snapped his head around to properly look at the dark-haired boy, clenching the railing of the balcony tightly. "That's all you do, isn't it? Want everything, ignore everything you already have, pretend that what you're asking for is trivial."

"That's not -" 

"You will never, _ever_ understand," He finished, "that you already have everything." 

Neither of them spoke for a moment, and the only sound between them was the quiet whirring of the pool's chlorinator and the hollow sound of bass-boosted music. 

Breaking the silence with an equally fragile voice, Akira didn't even look at him. "I wanted to tell you that it was never about Haru. I'm sorry if that got mixed up, but honestly, I could never see her that way. I guess it backfired." 

"You fucking asshole." Goro hissed. "You really dislike me that much that you literally tear me away from -"

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, the quarterback turned on his heel, standing up straight. "If you would just let me finish speaking, you'd hear that I don't hate you! Not in the slightest." 

Helplessly lost, Goro pushed off the railing to stand in front of Akira, glaring furiously at his face. A mere inch separated them, and he could smell the sweet scent of that stupid beer on his breath. "Then what the hell do you think you're doing?" 

"For someone so smart, you're so fucking _stupid_." Akira breathed. 

Then, sliding his hands into Goro's hair, he cupped his face and leaned in, kissing him. Although every single voice in his head told him that it was wrong or that it was a trick, Goro found himself kissing back, angling his head to the side as he placed a hand above Akira's hip. Almost as if he was expecting to be pushed away, Akira shies away from the hand on his waist, but Goro doesn't let go, tugging him closer. He tasted like blackberries and pears, but he smelled deeper, like cedar and coffee.

A tiny voice in the back of his head elbowed its way to the front of his skull, whispering mean little things. 

"It's a trap," it says, "Boys like Akira only want one thing. They'll do anything to get it, including breaking life-threatening plans into a million pieces, grinding those pieces into fine dust, and snorting it like cocaine." 

That left the question of what it was that Akira wanted. It wasn't Haru, apparently, and he claimed not to hate Goro. 

"But what if he's lying?" The voice murmurs. "What if he just hates you so much, he'll do anything to tear you down? And now, look what you've done, you stupid little boy. You've really gone and done it now, running around kissing boys who call you pretty and pretending that it's normal. That it's liveable." 

Immediately, Goro pulled back. Pale and out of breath, he looked at Akira with nothing but pure, unadulterated fear on his face. There was nowhere for him to run. "Kurusu, please, I don't - I'm not meant to -" 

"Goro, you can do whatever you want," Akira reassured him, raising his palms to show docility. "You can push me away, you can pretend this never happened, you can fucking tell everyone you know, for all I care. But this - It's not your fault. It's not even a bad thing." 

Shaking his head, he pushed his hair out of his face, his hands shaking. "No, you don't understand, this is _bad_." 

Slowly, gently, Akira took Goro's wrists in his hands and ran the pads of his thumbs in circles over his pulse point. "I do, actually. It's not easy, realizing you're not quite like everyone else, but you're not that different either. I've been where you are, and I know it looks shitty."

As he focused on the soft touch on his wrists, Goro's brow furrowed. "But it is. This kind of wanting, it's not _right_. I shouldn't want to do any of this." 

"Who told you that?" Akira asked plainly, his hands lifting the brown-haired boy's face up to make eye contact. Goro didn't even have to tell him. His face darkening, Akira smoothed his fingers over his cheekbones. "Was it your dad?" 

"You don't have to tell me he's an asshole," Goro sighed, "I already know. Doesn't make him _wrong_." 

Akira's frown sharpened again, the light dancing on his face bending and curling like ribbons. "Doesn't make him right either."

"I know!" He snapped, then bit his lip, softening slightly. "I know." 

Despite absolutely everything drilled into his head since his mother died, every single cutting insult, every handprint stark and red on his face, each bruise he nursed into hiding after words weren't enough, Goro trusted someone. He believed that Akira was right over the self-proclaimed truths that spewed from his father's mouth. To part of him, that was like heresy, but to another, it was freedom. After all, he thought, rebellion, no matter how small, wasn't always easy. As he waited patiently for Goro's answer, Akira gently held his face in his hands, ready to either let him go or pull him closer. 

Goro didn't give him a chance to, holding the railing of the balcony as he pressed his lips to Akira's. Smiling, he places a hand on Goro's chest. "You taste like the strawberry vodka." 

"You're one to talk," Goro replies. "You're far too sweet for my liking." 

Smirking, Akira draws back, placing his hand on the door and straightening out his shirt. "That's fine. I guess I'll just go back inside then. Good talk, see you around."

"Idiot. Remember what I said about sweet things?" Grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back, Goro ran his tongue over his lips. "I want more." 

"Oh," Akira said, gaping at him like a dumb, pretty goldfish. " _Oh_."

Dragging Goro out the back door, Akira fumbled with his car keys, then stopped, tucking them into his back pocket. 

"We'll have to walk. I'm not quite sober enough to drive. I'm just a few blocks down." He said, but his eyes were distracted, flicking downward to stare at Goro's mouth. 

After looking over his shoulder, the brown-haired boy leaned in, kissing him again. Akira hummed, his tongue pressing gently against Goro's lips as if waiting for permission to go further. He complied, leaning back against the wall next to the back door to keep himself steady. Akira's hand snaked around the back of his neck, thumb brushing the underside of his jaw with feather-like softness. 

"You know," Goro leaned back, "it might be a little difficult to walk if you're tapping out for breaks. 

Akira shrugged. "We can go at our own pace. But if you want to get there quickly, stop being so _damn_ kissable." 

The only thing that stopped Goro from shutting him up with his mouth was a text from his sister. God, she really didn't have the gift of good timing. 

> futaba: when are you gonna be home?
> 
> futaba: if you're not coming back, at least tell me jerkface
> 
> futaba: also are you ok??
> 
> futaba: you texted me and i thought a cat had a hold of your phone lmao
> 
> Goro: I'm fine.
> 
> Goro: Will be back late. 
> 
> futaba: i pray to god that wasn't you i heard from your phone and you were just really close to a touchy couple
> 
> Goro: Goodbye, Futaba.
> 
> Goro: Remove the bugs.
> 
> futaba: OHMYGODEW

They got there in the end. It took a lot of walking and a lot of "pit stops," but Goro stood on Akira's balcony, watching him dig his keys out of his pocket. Leaving his car at Ann's house didn't seem like a big deal to him, but he figured they must be good friends. Perhaps if they had paid closer attention, they would see that their social circles overlapped, even though one was significantly smaller than the other. As the door swung open, it became apparent that Akira lived alone, or his parents were rarely home. No matter, he thought, it certainly made things a lot easier. Akira shut the door behind him and instantly pressed the brown-haired boy against the surface, kissing him with a hunger he was scared to show before. 

"Upstairs?" He muttered, his hand halfway up Goro's shirt. 

Nodding, he let himself be dragged up the stairs, his blood hot in his veins. It was a separate heat from the one he felt when angry. This one was more engaging, more exciting, and far more pleasant. It flared up when Akira looked at him, his dark eyes like open pages, readable and easily understandable. He liked it better that way. All cards on the table, unlike Ann's take on the situation. 

Akira's room was simple. Grey bedsheets, nondescript dresser, rows upon rows of photographs and other paraphernalia pinned up against the wall and strewn across his shelves. The trinkets looked like souvenirs from trips with friends, but Akira didn't even glance at them. Too busy drinking in every detail of Goro's face in the low lamplight. Akira's hand was warm in his, and he laced their fingers together, sincere and earnest. 

"You have no clue," He murmured, "how much I've thought about this." 

Goro cocked his head to the side, feeling his other hand start to slide up his arm. "I'm sure I don't. I had no clue you even tolerated me until tonight." 

As he leaned in close, Akira's lips grazed the shell of Goro's ear. "I do a _lot_ more than tolerate you." 

With a sharp tug, he felt his back hit the mattress of Akira's bed, gripping the front of the dark-haired boy's shirt with fervor. He was terrified, and he was ecstatic, and the combination sent a trill down his spine, slipping shivers down every inch of his back. It's only when Akira's mouth met his neck did he wrap his arms around him tighter, pulling him closer. Goro's breathing picked up, and the stars he saw on the ceiling are too bright for him to look at, so he stared into Akira's eyes instead as he leaned back, pulling his shirt over his head. His hands stopped when he finds the hem of the brown-haired boy's shirt, looking him in the eyes before he went any further. It was a question, and Goro couldn't help but nod, worried his voice would come out too thin and tinged with sighs to understand. 

Akira's hands were gentle, and they touched him like a cartographer's hands run over a well-drawn map. Goro held onto him for dear life, worried that he'd never be close enough to him, that if they didn't consume all of the space between them, they'd never find each other again. That kind of dread was only accompanied by the sheer joy of being free. Free of the _stupid_ fucking things his father said, the rules that used to have total control over Goro's life, and free of the feeling that he was inadequate. Akira's appreciation was made clear in the things he whispered into the crook of his neck, breathy and low against his skin. 

Goro wondered what he was going to tell Futaba. 

Futaba wondered where the fresh _Hell_ her brother was. Yeah, it was chill being spared from his incessant nagging to go clean her room or whatever, but it was kind of lonely without someone else in the house. Her all-nighter was becoming a three-quarter-nighter, and there still wasn't any sign of him. Maybe he hooked up with someone, a tiny, gross part of her brain thought. She waved said thought away, choosing to focus her attention on getting the secret ending in her visual novel while simultaneously winning her fiftieth Pokémon battle in a row. It's only when her phone buzzed did that thought jump in the triumph that it was right and Futaba was wrong, so now she owed her brain a soda. 

> unknown number: hey, is this futaba?

Weird. She never got spam messages that started like that. 

> futaba sakura: this is she.
> 
> futaba sakura: who is this?
> 
> akira kurusu: i’m akira kurusu. from shujin.
> 
> akira kurusu: i’m goro’s uhh
> 
> futaba sakura: oh god i know exactly what you are please don’t say it
> 
> akira kurusu: i just wanted to tell you that goro might not be coming home tonight
> 
> futaba sakura: i’m going to say this once, and only once
> 
> futaba sakura: if you ever bring my brother home after 2 am in the morning, i will personally track down each piece of tech you own and douse it in tepid soda
> 
> akira kurusu: wow that’s hardcore
> 
> akira kurusu: got it
> 
> akira kurusu: is 2 am fair game or am i pushing it?
> 
> futaba sakura: you’re pushing it
> 
> akira kurusu: gotcha
> 
> futaba sakura: ok you can go back to being a jock now
> 
> akira kurusu: thanks?
> 
> futaba sakura: not a compliment

Futaba archived the chat and fired up her PC. Her visual novel could wait; she had to distract herself from all sorts of romance for a hot second. Her mind drifted back to the dumb jock anyway, and she thought about the often-insulted Akira Kurusu. He was obnoxious, arrogant, and virtually perfect, according to Goro, but Futaba knew better. No one was perfect. Especially stupid jocks who put _actual_ effort into sports. Fucking weirdos. Futaba idly drifted her mouse around her monitor, wondering how long Goro would have to hide this from their father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> futaba doesn't deserve this  
> (edit: i am also releasing excerpts of the chapters before they're released on my tumblr! come yell at me there! yes, this is a shameless self-promotion, what are you going to do about it?)


End file.
